Am I Mad
by Thoughtless Beauty
Summary: This is the story of Ambrose Kingsford, or as he would later be known, the Mad Hatter and how he went from a common thief in the streets of London to becoming one of the most powerful wizards in Wonderland, to the crazed Hatter that we know him know. It's here that Ambrose learns about love, hate, and revenge in a world we've never seen before. Coverart: Melusaaste from devinantart
1. Prologue

Prologue

The hallway of prison cells stretched on, endless, the atmosphere was imposingly dismal; the dim light of the flaming torches only made the reaching shadows grow longer, feeding the darkness instead of beating it back. The stark bareness of the halls was enough to stifle even the brightest sense of good humor. Two guards stood watch over the prison, surveying the ghostly stillness of the cages around them, their swords hung with a sinister warning, gleaming at their sides. In the lantern's glow the red of their uniforms looked wet, as if they had been swathed in fresh blood. They paced back and forth from one end to the other, crossing paths with a curt nod before continuing on with their long trek to the other end of the mostly inhabited prison cells. They walked with the single-minded intensity of soldiers; their personalities wiped clean from their person, their faces hidden behind crimson helmets. These men were carbon copies of each other, no discernable differences they moved as one, marching prideful down the prison hallways.

In the darkness a low moaning howl filled the air slowly, the sole despondent note hanging in the air before the loud warning of one of the guards as he hit the bars with the hilt of his sword cutting it off abruptly, and then nothing else could be heard except the discreet mutterings and stifled whimpers of the pitiful. As one of the guards passed the cells he peered in at their inhabitants. A Dodo bird dressed in a painters smock sat in the corner of one with a thick iron band around his neck, his feathers rumbled and dirty as he cried silently to himself, in another a family of hedgehogs huddle together close, whimpering, they shrunk away as the guard drew closer, the whites of their eyes shone with fear in the torches light. There was the sound of a low chuckle, the sound of the powerful relishing in the control they posses over the weak. The guard moved on to the next cell still chuckling, but stopped short as he saw a man lying face down on the floor, unmoving. He looked closer hoping the man wasn't dead, giving a small shudder of disdain at the thought of having to clear away yet another dead body.

"Oi you, get up you lazy bum. Oi! I said get up!" The guard called out gruffly, tapping the metal bars with the hilt of his sword. The man on the ground didn't move, he just lay there without a word. Aggravated the guard grabbed hold of the door, rattling the bars with the strength of his grip, as he peered over at the small sign that told the cell number and the prisoner's name. his eyes squinted, her rubbed the plate clean from dust and cobwebs that had accumulated over the years for those who had ben forgotten.

"Kingsford, Ambrose Kingsford—"

"No!" The sharp whisper cut the guard off mid sentence; the sound rang out in the air with the imposing power of a gong. Slowly, very slowly, a snake being sung from a basket by the clever melodies of a charmer, the man rose from the ground until he was sitting on his knees in the middle of the cell, back hunched and head bowed. The man, Ambrose, slowly reached for the ground where he picked up a ratty looking old top hat and placed it delicately on his head; his long white fingers looking like ghosts of spider webs against the dark matted fabric.

"Oh how the feathers do fall from the foolish crow, when he flies so high but he does not know, oh no, does he know, that crow, does he know he's a raven searching for his haven as his bloodless feathers fall from the sky beneath him." The man spoke the poem in a lyrical voice, and then began to laugh, quietly at first but his laughter soon grew into a crescendo of manic laughter. The hairs on the back of the guard's neck stood up in fear

"What was that?" The guard asked, his confusion evident as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, he shuffled his feet with the nervous half step dance of a frightened horse.

"Come sir can you tell, as to why in heaven or in hell, is a raven like a writing desk?" the crazed man said in a chuckle. He played his fingers in the air as though he were conducting an orchestra. His eyes rolling in his head.

Taken aback the guard bared his teeth in irritation, he hated jesters and time wasters and it was clear that this man here was one of the worst. "Not another word Kingsford—"

"That's not my name." he whispered, his voice cold and emotionless.

"Kingsford if you say one more word I'll have your head." In a flash of movement, almost undetectable by the eye the man in the top hat was on his feet and at the bars in a moment, his long fingered hands wrapped around the guard's throat in an iron vice grip. The guard's eyes bulged in shock as he dropped his sword in shock, his hands grappling at the ones around his throat, trying to pry the iron fingers off.

"Not if I have yours first." The man said as a sickly sweet smile stretched across his pale face, teeth barred in triumph, his lips, blood red and trembling. A pair of luminous blue eyes glowed with a demented fire as his dark hair streaked with white curled over the wide brim of his top hat. There was a thick scar that ran its way across his throat in a painfully bright red arc, his long face looking hallow and robbed of life as he gazed unfeelingly at the man who was now at his mercy before him.

"Kingsford please," The guard pleaded but with a quick twist of the man's hands the guards neck broke with a snap that echoed through the halls and he crumbled to the ground, whatever else he would have said was lost.

"Kingsford is gone, dead and gone; it's the Hatter now." He whispered and the small demented smile curled back over his lips as he sat back down in the middle of his cell, humming and muttering to himself in the darkness as the shadows began to grow once more, completely submerging him in darkness.

End.

- Author's note - I feel as though being a writer is some what like being a parent whereas the stories you come up with no matter how old you were when you wrote should always be loved unconditionally. However I have to admit that this is one of my favorites to write. Though it is no where near finished I have to admit to anyone, if there is anyone reading this currently, that this is far more progressed than how it appears currently, and it is through this progression, frustration, and devotion that I have come to both love and utterly hate this story, as it should be- but I digress. I am a perfectionist that never considers anything to be complete and my ability to publish this prologue is quite astounding, but if I do say so myself is a kickass start to with any hope a kick ass story but that only comes with polishing and polishing again. I would hope any and all who read this would take a moment to give me any sort of feed back that would help polish my precious stone I would be very appreciative of it :) thank you all!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The London streets were gray and dreary as they were every day of every week of every month of every year as far back as Ambrose could remember. His old travel worn boots slipped and squeaked on the slick cobblestones of the perpetually wet London streets. The world was gray, London seemed to sap all the color and life out of everything, leaving behind a pale disingenuous corpse where the pests of society burrow and thrive in the stench of the rotting carrion flesh of deceased beauty. Nothing changed here, no one new walked past Ambrose on the streets, no pocket he picked was ever a stranger to him, of course by no means were they his friends, but he had grown so accustomed to them being in their usual spots. By the barber shop, on the corner, wherever it was, it was the norm, routine, ordinary, and for Ambrose it was dreadfully, dreadfully boring. Ambrose had grown up on these streets, racing through them, his tattered boots splashing through the puddle riddled roads as he fled from patrolling policemen who had been altered to the many thefts committed by the abundant orphans that ran amuck along the streets. In those times Ambrose was convinced that there were more orphans than adults that lived in London when he was child, of course that all changed in the outbreak of Cholera. With no homes and the lack of room within hospitals and churches many of the orphans died in the streets, withering in puddles of their own filth and men and women walked on, stepping over them in disgust. Ambrose forgot nothing, the memory of one of his childhood friends dying in his arms as he begged the local baker for help still burned in his mind and haunted his dreams from time to time.

Ambrose leaned casually against the stone was of the small barber shop, the pale sun peeking out from behind the dull gray clouds and illuminating the auburn strands in his soft brown hair. A pretty young woman walking past him caught his eye, she tossed him a shy smile, her eyes scanning him discreetly. Unable to stop himself he tossed her a wink and a small half smile, finding pleasure in seeing the brilliant scarlet of her blush stain her cheeks and neck, it was thrilling for him to use his looks to elicit a reaction from anyone. For him it showed that he had a level of power that went beyond the coins that jingled in his pockets. Just as Ambrose was about to follow the young girl the door to the barber shop opened and a well-dressed older gentleman stepped out on to the street and Ambrose felt himself perk up, he could practically smell the money in his pockets. _Show time. _

Casually Ambrose followed the older man, hands in his coat to ward of the cold as his scarf whipped around his face. He quickly closed the distance between the two and in one deft motion he tapped the man's shoe with the toe of his boot causing the old man to stumble. Reacting quickly Ambrose caught the old man as he pitched forward stopping him from clattering to the ground below.

"Careful of that step sir!" Ambrose said his strong hand on the man's coat distracted him as his quick fingers slipped into the gentlemen's coat pocket. As his fingers closed around the small coin purse Ambrose couldn't help but feel a twinge of dissatisfaction rush through him, leaving a stale taste in his mouth. The thrill of the steal had long since worn off, dying inside of him like a flame snuffed out by an unexpected wind. He removed his hand from the man's coat as he steady himself again, quietly depositing the coin purse into his own pocket.

"Thank you kindly sir, these eyes must be getting old, I didn't even see that step." The old man said with a good natured smile, patting Ambrose on the shoulder and going on his way. Backing away slowly, Ambrose allowed himself to be washed away by the others on the street, fleeing the scene of his small crime, putting as much distance between him and his latest investor. He chuckled to himself quietly and brushed the soft brown hair from his eyes, far off cry of outrage echoed through the air.

As he scanned the streets for his next customer his eyes caught sight of a couple hurrying across the street ahead of him, huddled close trying to fend off the steeping cold. The woman was dressed in a gown the color of moss that rustled with every step as she walked with a gentleman, her hand on his arm, holding him gently. She turned her face to him, the sun catching the strands of gold in her hair prettily as she laughed at something her escort had said. Ambrose watched in stunned silence as the man took her hand in his own and bent down, brushing his lips over the top of her skin. The way those two looked at each other made Ambrose's heart drop and he quickly turned away from them; his hand twisting the two golden rings on his cold finger obsessively, a nervous habit that had been his for years now. There was pit swelling in the bottom of his stomach, rising bile in his throat and he felt as if he were about to be sick at any moment. Without warning an image burst like lightning from behind his eyes, a young woman with beautiful golden hair braided around her face and a bright smile causing her skin to glow. Ambrose's mind reared from the sudden moment of reminiscence and he gasped in shock before the London streets came back into Ambrose's view. He wanted to get away from the streets, from that couple, the will to filch had cooled in him, leaving Ambrose feeling hallow, more so than usual.

Tossing a quick precautionary look over his shoulder Ambrose ducked into the ally on his right and made his way behind houses and old leaning buildings. After a few minutes of ducking through alleys and bypassing the usual drunk sleeping off the nights spent wages until he came up to a battered wooden door. The black paint was peeling and cracking in several places, the wood warped from years of water damage and abuse. He rapped on the door in a quick succession of taps and waited a heart beat before the door creaked open and he disappeared into the darkness of the old building like a rat skittering out of the light into the safety of the sewer.

The smells of pipe smoke and spilt beer filled the musty hall as a young boy lead Ambrose forward, holding a small lantern in his pale hand. Ambrose fought the urge to wrinkle his nose as he stepped over the sleeping mutt that was sprawled across the dirty matted floor. Looking at the young boy brought back memories of Ambrose's own childhood, the wallpaper peeling from the walls and threadbare carpet spread sparsely over the splintering wooden floor had not changed since Ambrose was a boy first arriving on the step of this so called orphan's house.

A young lad, just a fledging, shivering in the bitter rain with an officer's strong grip on his shoulder. A frayed jacked wrung between two nervous hands, and there were tears that threatened to fall but were held back by the threads of pride a young boy comes by naturally as the door to the battered apartment opened.

"What do we have here?" a sensual voice arose from within the darkness of the door, the suggestive silhouette of a woman could barely be seen in the gloom. The guard pushed the child forward to answer but the boy shrank away in fear, it was the officer's rough shove in the shoulder and a muted growl that finally dislodged the words from the youth's throat.

"M-my name is Ambrose k-Kingsford, m-ma'am." The young Ambrose answered, and thus his fate was sealed with the utterance of that short stuttered sentence.

"This was if you please sir, my lady is waiting." The boy's small voice squeaked like a mouse snapping Ambrose out of his brief moment of reminiscence as he stopped and opened a door for him. As the young man lifted his arm to allow Ambrose to see the door better he noticed that the lantern's light illuminated the hollowness of the young boy's face. His skin had been robbed of its color, ravaged by the hunger that every orphan in London knew all too well. Ambrose felt a pang of pity for the tiny scrap of a kid well up in his throat making it hard for Kingsford to breathe. Placing a hand on the boy's thin shoulders Ambrose kneeled so that he could look the young child in the eye and spoke very quietly, his voice no louder than a whisper.

"Where's your mum boy?" he asked, his voice rumbling low in the quiet of the darkened house. The small boys eyes widened in surprise and his paper-thin lips drew themselves in a grim line.

"I haven't got one sir, she died when I was just a babe. Mistress Haven told me that she bled to death in the bed before I had even screamed my first breath. I never knew me father, probably because he knew what I did to me mum. Been in the work house ever since." The boy said quietly, his luminous eyes watched warily as Ambrose reached into the pocket of his jacket retrieving the pilfered coin purse he had managed to procure just an hour or so before. He smiled a bit at the poetic justice of wrongly begotten goods going towards the wellbeing of an egregiously wronged young man, the entirety of it disturbed Ambrose beyond reason but he said nothing of it. Ambrose dropped a few of the coins from the purse into the young boy's cold palm; the chinking sound of metal clicking together filled the air and returned the stolen purse back to the jacket pocket, feeling the weight of the money rest once more against his breast. The boys face lit up with delight as he looked at the shinning coins now resting in his palm, he examined them turning them over one by one with his fingers in excitement.

"What's your name?" Ambrose asked quietly standing back up

"James sir, James Thompson."

"Well James, go use that to buy yourself a fresh loaf of sweet bread, aye?"

"Thank you sir!" the boys said and dashed back down the hall his delighted laugh, the last thing Ambrose heard before the slamming door enveloped him back into silence.

"Always such a softie Ambrose, well at least on the little ones." A seductive voice called out with a bored laugh. Ambrose straightened his jacket before turning to face the woman who had spoken. Just as they had met that first night she was cloaked in darkness, her silhouette standing out just barely enough to see until finally the woman in the door way took a step into the light. She leaned up against the doorframe, her dark hair hanging free on her shoulders in long, tight curls that glistened sinisterly in the halls dark light. Her body was small and shapely, her curves accentuated by the black velvet dress she wore, it dipped down dangerously low in the front. French, Ambrose mused silently as he watched the woman survey him in a similar fashion, save the carnal hunger that had sparked to life behind her eyes. She was quite a few years older than Ambrose with just as much, if not more, life experience to prove it. Madame Elizabeth Haven married three times in the course of six years, each man quite a bit older and far wealthier than the last. She was the queen of tricksters, of liars and cheats, after all she had made the craft an art form. She was the Da Vinci, and ones like Ambrose, were her Mona Lisa's of the street rat life.

"Elizabeth." He murmured in a low whispered and he saw her chest flutter with and excited breath. She grinned, her teeth flashing like some feral beast about to pounce.

"Ambrose, I wasn't expecting you this evening, what a lovely…surprise." The last word was a hiss as she licked her lips, her eyes scorching him once more but Ambrose ignored it, this just like pick pocketing, was routine.

"I've come to ask for a favor." He said with a clear voice, standing a bit straighter as his eyes followed the lines of the patterned wallpaper just above Elizabeth's head. Elizabeth raised an eye brow in surprise and then grinned wickedly. Stepping forward she placed a hand on his chest, her fingers slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.

"A favor you say?" She game a small chuckle as she started to circle him, her hands running themselves over the tight muscles in his back. "But Ambrose, you know better than most that my favors aren't given, they're bought." Her breath was hot on the back of his neck as she whispered to him.

"Aye." He grunted, fighting to keep the hint boredom from creeping into his voice as she circled back around so that she was standing in front of him again.

"Good." She said in a throaty whisper, taking his chin in her strong claw like hands she crushed her lips against his as she led him back into the dark room; the door shutting with a definitive thud.

End.

- Author's Note -

Going back through my story chapter by chapter is allowing myself to not only find my mistakes (of which there are many) but it is also allowing me to make several tweaks that I would have otherwise not have thought to be either a good or ever relevant additions to the story. Retrospection in the face of writers block is a writers best friend. Do leave your comments either below or in a PM I would love to hear any and all feed back on how you think I did. My goal this chapter was try and give you as the audience a little more insight into Ambrose's childhood and past without plunging right into it, that may or may not come later there are no promises ;) let me know what you all think!


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ambrose was tugging back on his shirt, tucking the tails into his unbuttoned pants as he stood up from the bed he tried to ignore the feeling filth that still hung on his skin.

"So what was this favor that you wanted so desperately?" Elizabeth asked with a satisfied sigh as she gathered the sheets around her body, her hair matted and make up smudged slightly. She looked the way a lioness would after devouring an antelope, licking her maw with a gratified growl. Ambrose was quiet for a moment as he buttoned his shirt slowly, the weak feeling of exhaustion pulling at his limbs making him wish that getting the things that he desired didn't involve him having to stoop as low as soliciting locations of well loaded shops and homes with sex, but alas the world was an imperfect place and these types of tribulations Ambrose had to suffer in stewing silence.

"I need a more money. I'm running low and the everyday coin filching isn't enough anymore. At least not enough to get me to where I'm going" He said simply, fastening the last button on his shirt, he shook his hair out of his face and looked at Elizabeth impassively. She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, tapping her long fingers against her thin lips.

"And where is it that you plan on going Ambrose?" Elizabeth asked in what she tried to pass off as a nonchalant tone but the curious, borderline possessive glint Ambrose saw in her eye told him that she wasn't asking out of mere curiosity so much as cultivating information.

"That is of no concern to you, my lady" Ambrose said a tone of sarcasm at the proper address of the woman was poorly hidden, in fact Ambrose didn't even bother trying to hide the contempt of the woman, using the term of description very loosely, standing in front of him. She shrugged the slight off, seemingly unfazed she continued on with the conversation.

"A new heist? You've spent all your hard earned wages giving to every groveling scrap of flesh you pass on the streets have you?" she asked playfully, standing up from the bed as well, the sheet falling away. Ambrose averted his eyes, not out of courtesy but instead disgust.

"What I do with my money is also no concern for you to have, I give you your commission for the information I acquire and the rest I spend at my leisure" he said curtly, the coldness in his voice was like knives. He saw Elizabeth drawback slightly, just a moment of hesitation before she walked across the room and grabbed the silk robe that was hanging across the back of the bed's headboard.

"Well there is a new shipment of antiques being delivered to Jones and Burke's this evening at midnight. Jewelry, furniture, and many other treasures all rumored to be reserved for the royal family's first pick." Elizabeth said as she tied the robe closed and walked her way up to Ambrose's side, placing a hand on his arm. "They won't be there until tomorrow at midnight so you can stay…" Elizabeth said suggestively as her hands crept to his chest, tugging at the buttons once more. Ambrose grabbed her hands, pulling them from him firmly as he kept his face coolly expressionless. Disgust threatening to make his very skin crawl off his bones, his arms covered in goose flesh.

"No thank you." He said and made a step towards the door thinking that he was home free, but the candle light glinted gold off of the rings on his left hand and without warning Elizabeth caught his hand with a strangled gasp.

"You still wear these? Why! Take them off, she's gone Ambrose, you have me now. Take them off!" she screamed, pulling savagely at the golden bands around his finger. Ambrose hardly ever got angry, he never felt anything as passionate as anger anymore, but the sight of Elizabeth touching the rings on his hand enraged him. Quickly he grabbed both of her hands, holding them painfully tight, he stared at her coldly. She met his stare defiantly despite the sight of his tightly clenched jaw and the anger simmering in his eyes.

"Don't." he said the one word with all the finality of a clap of thunder or the shattering of a mirror, unmistakable.

"You're living in the past Ambrose, I could be…" Elizabeth cried but Ambrose cut her off with a curt reply.

"You can't be! You never could!" He roared and flung her away, passing from her Ambrose was seeing the room bathed in red and realizing he was seeing nothing. He turned back to Elizabeth and saw the tears rushing down her face, the wistful tears of a woman scorned and despite himself Ambrose felt the anger be replaced with shame. He may have been a common thief but there was still a part of him that would never harm a woman, the fact that he had just raised his voice against one was beyond deplorable.

"I can't give you was you are after, what you are looking for in me doesn't exist." He said quietly in an attempt to make up for his harsh tone only moments ago, his eyes were dull, they betrayed none of the pain that he felt in his chest. Ambrose knew those things had existed, but by now it seemed like a different world, a different life that was far removed from the one he was living now. Without another look at Elizabeth he turned and headed for the door, this time she didn't try to stop him.

"I expect half of the cut from this excursion Ambrose." Elizabeth said, her voice tight with an edge to it. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_ he thought wincing with a sudden sense of apprehensive, not for himself but for the little boy he had sent from the home just hours ago, _James_. He was sure that Elizabeth would take out her wrath from is rejection on the next poor creature that crossed her path, Ambrose knew her tendencies from his own experiences as a child; growing up in this house was a hell all its own. Ambrose prayed that the boy was not the first to cross Elizabeth's path.

"I expected nothing less, my lady." He said resigned and with that opened the door and stepped out into the hall way letting the door close, cutting off the soft sobs that were floating from the room and then he was gone, down the hall and out of the house with no thoughts of looking back.

Elizabeth had been right about one thing; Ambrose couldn't pull off the heist for at least another day and with dusk already settling in the sky and exhaustion clouding his mind, there was nothing more he could do but return home and prepare for his excursion tomorrow. Shrugging his shoulder Ambrose cracked his knuckles and headed off down then slick and foggy streets disappearing in the gloom of the impending night.

"_Ambrose…where did you go?" The serene phantom like voice called out forcing Ambrose to open his eyes. He found himself walking the length of a candle lit hallway. It was filled with doors, looked and imposing with one door at the end of the hall, cracked slightly, just enough for a sliver of light to break free into the hallway serving as a beacon. His heart beat was leaping madly in his throat but his feet refused to move faster than the slow steps that dragged him further down the hall. All Ambrose knew was that he needed to get to that door no matter what. It felt as though his life depended on it… or maybe someone else's. _

_ "Ambrose, please come back." The voice called out once more, it was a woman's cry and the sound of it almost wrenched his heart out of his chest. I'm coming! He opened his mouth the answer back but his voice was trapped, held hostage in his throat almost choking him. The familiarity of the call teased Ambrose's memory, faintly forming the visage of a person in the back of Ambrose's mind but their face remained hidden, clouded in confusion and uncertainty. _

_ "Ambrose." The sound was growing fainter the close Ambrose got, and suddenly it seemed as though he were making no more progress, stuck in the perpetual motion of walking while gaining no ground. _

_ "Wait! Please wait!" he finally cried out but the hall was already growing fuzzy, fading like the chalk drawn portraits in the midst of a thunderstorm. Slowly but surely the picture would soon be washed away, the slate cleaned. It felt as though Ambrose was in a lake, treading water desperately, but only making himself drown faster. Desperation pushed his heart into his mouth, the blood rushing in his ear. _

_ "AMBROSE!" The scream pierced the air._

"WAIT!" Ambrose screamed, jolting straight up. The sheen of cold sweat cover his bare chest as he tried to catch the breath that had escaped his lungs. The echo of the ghost scream rang in his ears, louder than his own heartbeat. Gasping he rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shake off the rising nausea.

"Damn it!" He roared picking up and flinging the drinking glass sitting on the rickety bed side table across the room. He watched it shatter into a million pieces, the shards scattering across the scratched wooden floor. He sat there for a moment, waiting until he could finally stand the pace of his own heartbeat. Finally when he could hear something other than the pulsing of his own heart in his ears he whipped the tatter sheet off of himself and threw on his clothes, trying to shake the last remnants of the dream from his thoughts. He looked to the window of the tiny cage like apartment, the sky was alight with the pale sun as it crossed high into the sky.

"Noon already." He whispered to himself pulling on his coat, h had time to kill and he knew just what to do. He walked across the floor, his boots crushing the glass underfoot into fine powder. Grabbing hold of the handle he threw the door open almost walking straight into an old crone of a woman, the land lady.

"You're rent is due sir, pay now or leave now it is your choice." She crooned, her voice creaked like an old house in the wind. She repulsed Ambrose any other time, but today Ambrose felt different, the prospect of what was to come today thrilled Ambrose's otherwise steady heart. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the coin purse he had stolen from the gentleman the other night and handed it all to the woman. Shocked the woman looked at the purse dumbfounded.

"But sir, this is too much." She protested half-heartedly.

"Keep it, I won't be coming back." He said determinedly and pushed himself past the old woman rushing down the steep steps taking them two at a time, Ambrose headed for London's streets once more.

The sun was stretching itself across the sky, but none of its fiery warmth made its way down to these lowly London streets. Ambrose hunched his shoulders and dug his hands deep into his pockets as he made his way down the street, his fingers once more bust at work, twirling the rings around and around, comforting him slightly Ambrose headed towards the only place in London where he could find even a sense of belonging. The trees of the nearby offered a dense shaded canopy that covered the walkway leading into the park. Ambrose always paused to take in the marvel of the leafy tunnel that had somehow grown out of the decrepit crumbling world around it.

As he made his way into the tunnel he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the moist air that surrounded him, it felt like he was in a forest, a refreshing change from the usual stale smoke filled smog that had seemed to have permanently settled over London. This was Ambrose's oasis in the brick and steel desert that was London, and it held the only company that Ambrose very sought. He made his way deeper into the park until he came upon a bench where an old man was sitting, the only person to be found in the park. He was bundled up with a coat, a pair of ratty old mittens on his hands, and a patched blanket covering his thin legs. On his head he wore a midnight black top hat with a blood red rose tucked within the sash tied around it. The man sat still, his wiry white hair swaying in the breeze beneath his hat. The faint sound of humming filled the air as Ambrose drew closer.

"Ah, Kingsford, I was wondering if you'd be coming by this evening." The old man called out before Ambrose had even said anything, turning his head and training his milky white eyes on Ambrose as though he could see him; the old man was blind.

"How did you know it was me Mr. Smith?" a hint of a smile crossed Ambrose's face as the man held is hand out towards him, just as he did every day, and waited until Ambrose deposited a fresh loaf o bread into the old man's aged palm.

"Because I can smell you, along with that thick moldy flower of a perfume that god awful woman wears. What favor has she granted you this time m'boy?" Mr. Smith asked with a toothless grin as he broke the bread into pieces, handing one to Ambrose. Ambrose stopped, taking a moment to sniff the clothes that he had worn last night, the only thing he had to weat at all. There was a faint trace of the Elizabeth's perfume lingering on the lapel of his tattered jacket.

"Just another heist, I'm hoping this one will get me out of this god forsaken pit." Ambrose said contemptuously as he accepted the offered bread, taking his customary place next to Mr. Smith on the old bench.

"Oh Ambrose you think God has forsaken you, not London, you're not considerate enough to include the whole of London in your complaining." Smith joked in a nonchalant manner and bit into his bread. Ambrose sat quietly for a moment as he considered Smith's words, was he right? Was that how he saw the world now, as just a toy that God played with, a game that he could break at any moment? Ambrose shrugged, conceding to Smith's words.

"Regardless, I want something better, there has to be something better out there away from here. I need things to be different." Ambrose spoke to his feet as he thought of what his life would be like away from the dark streets of London; away from the memories that haunted his every step.

"Are you looking for something different or something better?" Smith mused curiously, his tone level, but Ambrose had known Smith long enough to hear the slight hitch in his voice.

"I don't see the difference between the two. I'd take anything over this." Ambrose responded with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"Be careful what you wish for m'boy, you might just get it." he said ominously, but before Ambrose could say anything a gust of wind buffeted the two, snatching Smith's hat from his head and sending it skidding across the walk way. Ambrose leapt to his feet, rushing after the runaway top hat before it was whisked away completely by the turbulent winds. He returned to the bench with a small laugh as he dusted off the top of the hat.

"Fickle things aren't they?" Smith said quietly as he titled his head back, basking in the waning sunlight, his wrinkled face stretching and refolding itself back into a carefree smile.

"What's that?" Ambrose asked curiously as he twirled the brim of Smith's hat around his finger causally.

"The winds," Smith replied, eyes still closed. "They move so restlessly so free, blowing away the old, bringing new life with them, new changes. Do you feel that Ambrose?" Ambrose raised himself up from the bench once more and crouched down in front of Smith, placing a comforting hand on the old man's knee.

"Feel what Smith?" Ambrose asked humoring the old man, Ambrose knew how much Smith loved his riddles and poetry, he remembered the many evenings the two of them had spent on this same bench as Smith recanted stories and recited his own poems.

"Change my dear boy, the winds of change." Smith said with a giddy laugh, clapping Ambrose's shoulder with his withered hands, his sightless eyes gazing at something only he could see. Patting smith's knee Ambrose stood.

"I think you're right Smith, things are about to change tonight." Ambrose said, and for the first time in years he felt the faint flutter of hope stir in his chest. Looking up into the sky Ambrose noted the falling sun. "I'd better get on with it Smith, 'fore I lose my chance."

"Aye that you should son, that you should, but can I ask you one thing m'boy?" Smith spoke quietly taking Ambrose's arm with a steady grip. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" For a moment Ambrose just starred at the old man thoroughly perplexed before the two of them began to laugh, heartily, at each other for a decent couple of minutes. Wiping his eyes Ambrose patted Smith's shoulder affectionately.

"I'll be seeing you, old friend." He said trying to leave the top hat on Smith's lap but he wouldn't accept it.

"Keep it, think of it as the start of your change." He said with a sad smile. Compliant but curious Ambrose placed the old hat on his head and, for a brief moment, felt as though he had been struck by lightning in the briefest of moments. The energy was coursing through him, making the tips of his fingers tingle and go numb.

"Very becoming, it suits you." Smith murmured almost inaudible as Ambrose nodded and turned away looking at his fingers oddly, not noticing the curiosity of a blind man commenting on the appearance of another man. Just as he was about to leave the park Ambrose turned to wave goodbye to the old man whom he had spent countless hours telling him numerous stories for almost all of his life, but when he looked at the familiar old bench; it was empty. Smith was gone, leaving nothing behind but the wind to mourn his absence.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Ambrose crouched low on the roof of Jones and Burkes. Night had fallen early; the darkness like a shroud, lain carefully across his shoulders, cloaking him from the curious gazes tossed upward from the casual passerby. Ambrose found however as he tossed a cautious look over his shoulder that his careful precautions seemed to be in vain. The gloom of the empty streets resonated nothing but choking silence, the kind that makes you petrified to move, as though shattering the stillness would in turn shatter the rest of your world as some twisted form of retribution. Ambrose sat there waiting; he listened to the stillness until he thought that it would surely swallow him whole and leave not a trace behind it, and waited. Time seemed to pass as slowly as a life age of the earth as he crouched against the roof tiles legs cramping in the dark. Ambrose could feel his eyes growing heavy, the lids beginning to sink. Sleep danced at the corners of his consciousness, tempting him until Ambrose could feel himself slipping. He was almost gone when he felt something brush against his leg. Clamping his teeth down onto his lips he felt his heart leap into his throat as worst case scenarios flashed through his mind. Looking around quickly he found no one around him when he felt something brush against his leg again, looking to his feet he felt an embarrassed blush cross over his cheeks. A mangy looking street cat was rubbing its face against the toe of Ambrose's boot, its purrs loud enough for Ambrose to hear.

"You scrawny flea bag, you almost made me jump off this roof." He said gently, a begrudging smile pulling at the corners of his serious face. Reaching down he stroked the cats matted fur, rubbing its velvet ears between his thumb and forefinger. It mewed almost as if it were replying and continued on with its purring as Ambrose began once more to settle down.

"And now we wait." He whispered staring into the darkness, absorbed in his thoughts once more and like any other time when he was left to his own devices and his mind had nothing left to do but wander he began to travel down memory lane, his past lining the road like decrypted homes that had long since been abandoned by owners who could no longer maintain them. Just when Ambrose thought he couldn't wait any longer the light of a candle lit lantern broke into the night, scattering the darkness like a flock of pigeons startled by the sudden bark of a dog loose from its leash. Alert Ambrose rose from the ground slightly, craning his neck to look over the edge of the roof he watched as the store owner filed out of the shops door.

"I'll see you tomorrow Mr. Burke." A jovial voice echoed through the close-set streets as the two men had stepped on to the boulevard, the door closed behind them extinguishing the lights and allowing the darkness to swarm around them once more.

"Yes bright and early Mr. Jones, good night." A deeper tone answered him and just like that the two business men parted ways with the tip of a hat and a polite wave; leaving Ambrose truly alone in the chilly night air. He felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through his veins, making his limbs tingle with anticipation; he stretched his shoulder loose shaking off the tightness the cold night air had left him. The cat arched its back and mewed once before scampering away, it too disappearing into the darkness.

"Show time." Ambrose whispered he tugged the grey scar over his nose and pulled the brim of his of his newly acquired top hat lower so all of Ambrose's face that could be seen was the slight glint of his as he peered into the night.

Breaking into Jones and Burke's was nothing special for Ambrose, like anything else in Ambrose's life in London it had long since become routine. Ambrose climbed down from the roof, skittering down the walls like a phantom until his boot hit the stone walkway beneath him. Licking his fingers he extinguished the flaming lanterns that illuminated the front door of the store. The darkness was Ambrose's shroud, his most loyal friend and he exploited it for all that it was worth. Biting his lip in concentration Ambrose crouched low in front of the lock as he picked it quickly and quietly. A small metallic click rewarded Ambrose for his efforts and the wooden door slid open slowly, he was in. Quickly tucking his tools away into the folds of his coat Ambrose slipped into the store and closed the door with an inaudible thud behind him. Ambrose could feel excitement begin to bubble beneath his skin, the old twitch of apprehension had crept back into his finger tips. Ambrose could feel it, the slight pull of chance tugging at his legs the very thought of no longer having to wonder when he would have his next meal, no longer having to resort to groveling or thievery to fill his sparse pockets or sate his grumbling gut was almost enough to taste on his tongue. Ambrose's life was about to change in ways he could have never imagined, if only he had known.

Like a child in a candy store, Ambrose made his rounds, shifting eagerly through the objects on the shelves and disposing what he fancied into the mouth of the sagging burlap sack. As he was looting he caught sight of the door in the back of the shop standing slightly ajar. '_Jewelry, furniture, and many other treasures rumored to be saved for the royal family's first pick.'_ Elizabeth's words echoed in Ambrose's head. The longer Ambrose starred at the door the more compelled he felt explore the contents of the back room. It was like a line had hooked itself into his flesh, tugging at him as it tried to reel him in. For some inexplicable reason that Ambrose could not quite place, he felt that something inside that tiny room would yield what he was so desperately searching for, the key to his way out of this half life. Ambrose made his way towards the back of the store, snatching random trinkets from the shelf as he went, but noticing none of it. With the toe of his boot Ambrose nudged the door open and nearly dropped his bag in shock. The tiny room was draped with furniture, carpets, and countless other exquisite pleasures. Ambrose licked his lips and wrung the lip of the bag excitedly in his hands. He made quick work of picking clean the jewelry and small trinkets that lay in row after row on display, he moved through the isles like a snake.

He was just synching up the bag when Ambrose saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively Ambrose reached for the thing closest to him; a long handled dagger in a glided sheath. Pulling the knife from the sheath he held the blade in front of him, the steel winking wickedly in the dim light. Quickly Ambrose turned where he had seen the movement. Ambrose froze at the sight of a shadowed figure standing in front of him, their body was tense. Ambrose starred, statuesque, at the figure until he realized that what he was starring at wasn't another intruder but instead his own reflection in a full length mirror. Fluster and feeling exceptionally foolish Ambrose hastily jammed the knife back into its sheath and drew closer to the mirror leaving the bag of pilfered treasures on the carpeted floor. He peered closer at the mirrors ornately hand carved frame, he was awe struck at the beauty and the formidable presence the mirror brought to such a small space. The closer he got to the mirror the more he began to feel a smothering sense of forbidding, and there was a dull buzzing hanging in the air around the antique like the room was holding in it a lightning storm, the air was being charged by its unruly power. There was something about this seemingly ordinary piece of furniture that was off, there was something not quite right, but that only made the mirror that much more compelling, for some inexplicable reason Ambrose needed to know what this was. Reaching up Ambrose placed a hand against the flawless surface, the glass felt almost fluid beneath the taunt skin of his palm, like water in a stream. Blue eyes flashing Ambrose scanned the mirror, committing every detail to memory. Wrapped around the frame, in spiraling gold letter were words almost hidden in the rich coloring of the wood. Squinting he made the curling words, he began to read the strange words aloud without even realizing it, his voice filling the silence of the small back room. The small space took on a dark sort of ambiance as the words trickled from his lips.

"Neeb sah tahw dna si tahw fo dlrow eht neewteb dnats I" as the last words fled Ambrose lips he felt the room give a terrible shudder. His knees buckled under him. The glass, which had been ice cold only moments ago was now blistering hot but Ambrose couldn't pull his hand away, it was as if it had been plastered in place. Beginning to feel the panic seeping into his chest, Ambrose tugged violently at his arm, trying to dissever it from the burning mirror, to no avail. The most peculiar sensation overtook him. His body became ridged, frozen in place; his skin was being pierced by hundreds of needles when suddenly the noise disappeared, sucked from the air without warning. Silence enveloped the now petrified Ambrose Kingsford. He could feel himself teetering forward, the ground was shifting from underneath his boots. Without warning Ambrose was pitched forward, head first into the glass. Hands thrown across his face Ambrose braced himself for impact, waiting with held breath for the feeling of broken glass embedding itself into soft exposed flesh. He listened for the sound of the mirror shattering into a thousand pieces, but there was nothing, no pain, no impact, no sound, nothing. Slowly lowering his hands from his face Ambrose found himself slipping through the surface of the mirror, as though he had fallen into quicksand unable to free himself, the silver exterior flowing like water in a pool or river.

"What in the world is going on?" Ambrose's voice bounced around in the darkness. "Am I on the other side of the mirror?" Ambrose felt as though he were falling now, quite quickly and he let out a terrified scream. Flailing his arms as he tumbled through the void, Ambrose could see his life flashing before his eyes. The last image Ambrose had was of a young woman, her soft blonde hair swept up from her young face and her light gray eyes smiling at him from beneath a lace veil. The ghost of his name on her lips but the sound of her voice had long been robbed by time from his memory. Just as he slipped away a flash of red like flame blotted the image of the ethereal woman from his view, leaving his heart singed with a feeling that he could hardly recognize after all this time: desire.

A/N: This is a shorter chapter then the others but this is also the chapter that really spurs the rest of the story on to where things start to get more interesting. With any luck you guys are intrigued by this mystery woman that haunts Ambrose's memory, anyone have any guesses? any ideas on the reveal? You all know how this is going to end about as much as I do. ;) I hope you enjoy this, do comment and let me know how I am doing!


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**A/N: I know it's been a while since I've posted the last chapter, life's caught up with me and forced my writing to the side but I'm back. So a lot has happened in this chapter but to me I feel as though this is a short chapter even though words wise this is one of the more lengthy of the four chapters. I know this is probably getting tedious waiting for the action, but bear with me I swear it's worth it. I've already thought up the ending and not to toot my own horn, but it is one of my favorite endings, thought you guys may not think the same. Give me some feed back, I'm excited to hear what you guys think of all of my progress so far. Thanks for reading, following, and adding this story to your favorites. **

**XXX - TB**

Fresh air, clean and crisp air, was what stirred Ambrose back into a groggy sense of awareness. He couldn't quite grasp what had happened, his memory fragmented within his own mind, the pieces scattering at his advances to reconnect them. _What in the bloody hell happened to me?_ He thought, but even that small action sent tremors of pain pin balling across the inside of his head. Ambrose tried to push himself up, he felt as though the bones in his arms turned into rubber, it was like he had been thrown from a galloping horse. Ambrose only just managed to get to his feet when he felt his knees begin to buckle from underneath; he staggered backward falling against a tree. He leaned heavily on it's rough back, relying on the trees strength to keep him standing. Stars burst behind Ambrose's eyes, his brain throbbing, beating itself against the confines of his own skull. Ambrose pressed the palms of his hands against either side of his head in an attempt to alleviate where the pain was at its peak, fighting pressure with pressure. His vision blurred and he pulled his hands away only to find them dripping scarlet.

"Well that can't be good." He murmured feeling his stomach rise to his throat, he felt like he was going to be sick, no he was definitely going to be sick. He shuddered violently, hunched over the acid in his gut began to rise to the surface, he convulsed violently as he retched. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Ambrose tried to focus his unsteady eyes on something other than the pile of his own vomit on the ground below him. Looking up Ambrose was finally able to take a good look at where he had finally ended up, he was definitely not in Jones and Burkes, that much was evident, but the question remained, where then was he? It was bright, blindingly bright which only made the pain in Ambrose's head thicken. And the colors were so vibrant Ambrose had never seen anything like it. Everything was fuzzy and colorful; it was dazzling as his eyes fought to focus again. Pinching the bridge of his nose Ambrose shook his head, and immediately wished he hadn't. Fighting another surge of nausea, "Where the bloody hell am I?" He whispered, his eyes the size of saucers.

"You're in wanderland of course." A voice called out from behind Ambrose, the words moved through the air like silk. Ambrose yelped, startled and tried to bolt, but the injury to his head made it feel as thought the earth beneath his feet was slanting and he stumbled, burying himself into the ground. Groaning he turned onto his back, his eyes burning in the sunlight, but he was too week to lift his arms to block it out.

"Oh dear, this isn't good, this isn't good at all." The disembodied voice said and a black figure blotted out the sun as they stood over him. Ambrose tried to open his mouth to speak, he tried to tell them to leave him alone, tried to get himself away, but he was helpless; all his strength sapped by his injury, Ambrose was acutely aware of just how vulnerable he really was. He tried to keep his eyes open but the world was like the waves of the ocean and his lids were heavy like anchor's trying to keep him tethered to reality. Slowly, very slowly, Ambrose was drifting off into a sea stillness with the stranger's voice lingering in his ears. _Welcome to wanderland._

"Why is it always you bringing home the strays Ches, sooner or later the King will have your head for it." The sound of new voices is what brought Ambrose back into the conscious world with cotton in his mouth and a splitting headache. His body felt heavy, and unless, lead in his veins anchoring him to the bed; all he could do was listen and wait for the control to come back to him.

"Not likely, the king is much to fond of me to cut this pretty neck, you're not getting rid of me that easily Cap, but a commendable attempt all the same." A voice answered who, Ambrose could only assume, was the one called 'Ches'. There was the sound of a chair being scrapped across the wooden floor, and glass clinking together as they were being moved. Ambrose felt the panic begin to rise in his chest, spurring his heart to gallop faster in his chest; he took a deep breath as discreetly as he could in order to calm himself. Panicking in a strange place would undoubtedly only make the situation worse off for him, he had to keep his head; he had to think of a way out just as he always did in situations like these.

"Well there's always tomorrow." The first voice, Cap, replied with an ominous undertone; Ambrose imagined a sly grin spreading across the strangers face the thought was chilling. Ambrose could see that he was in a room separated only by an open door way to where the others were. The light in the other room flickered as the elongated shadows moved across the room almost phantom like. Ambrose was reminded of marionettes, their strings hoisted high, wooden arms flailing in choreographed grace, wooden joints bending and creaking. He tried to lift his head, to help him get a better view of the speakers and that was when he realized the heaviness he had felt was because of the bandages wrapped tightly around his skull. They were stiff and heavy, keeping his head moored on the pillow, leaving him immobile. At that moment he saw movement close to the door and quickly shut his eyes, feigning unconsciousness, he wasn't sure where he was, or who he was with, Ambrose wasn't about to get caught off guard again.

"Would the two of you kindly cease this incessant bickering, your constant attempts eradicate each other are exceptionally tiring to deal with. Please go try to kill one and other elsewhere and leave me to my work in peace." A deep voice suddenly boomed giving Ambrose a jolt of surprise, he opened his eyes just a slit, looking at the room he was in through his eyelashes, able to really take in his surroundings. The room felt small, the walls were made from rock but the floor was wood. It was illuminated by numerous candles placed in the empty crevasses of the walls that served as shelves, they were filled with tightly rolled scrolls and leather bound books. Against the wall was a large wooden desk draped with charts and scrolls, quills and ink jars cultivated in the corners and along the top and illegible scrawled writing clutter the pages that Ambrose could see. A rich velvet curtain was draped over the entrance of the room and was held back by a thick golden rope; that was Ambrose's ticket to freedom, now all he had to do was get to it.

"As you wish Great One." Whispered Ches and Ambrose turned his head slightly once more in hopes to catch a glimpse of the people who had brought him here and almost screamed in surprise. The man named Ches had the build of a runner, he was tall with a strong, a fluid body with muscular shoulders and thin waist, but his face was a frightening mixture of feline and man. With a mane of hair that was the color of the darkest grape and eyebrows to match which hung over large slanted eyes the color of liquid gold. His nose was half formed into a cats, but still looked reminiscent of a humans, he had thin wire like whiskers sprouting from puffed up feline cheeks that had been molded from his flesh. He opened his mouth wide and grinned; displaying large pointed teeth in a smile that seemed to stretch itself twice as large as his actual face, it was cartoonish, almost grotesque. The cat named 'Ches' looked down to his left; Ambrose followed his gaze.

Plumes of colored smoke rose in growing rings as the man on his left, Cap, step forward; he wore a monocle and top hat, his pipe gripped in his long fingered blue hand and was a full head shorter than Ches. Cap had at least three chins dangling from his wide set, sea colored, oval face; they jiggled with each drag from his pipe. The man was enormous and oddly proportioned, having a large middle section, it bulged, bubbling out from underneath his tiny velvet waste coat and jacket. The slug like creature had incredibly small legs in comparison to his large girth, so small that they seemed to teeter under his weight like toothpick. Ambrose was astounded that he could stand, let alone walk on them. The two creatures left, leaving only Ambrose and the "Great One", as he had been referred to, in the cave room. He stepped out of the shadows and into the middle of the room, his face illuminated but the light of a hundred candles. He was an old man, with a long pointed beard of snow, and bushy eyebrows. A robe and hood the color of the forest, with hues of greens, browns, and gold flowing in the folds of the fabric, breathing with him. The hood covered his head but his white hair gleamed through. His face was long and thing, with a long wide nose hooked over his thin pink lips, it looked like his features had been carved from the bark of a tree, his skin taking on the natural cracks found in the trees skin. He had an ancient, powerful air about him and as he folded long spider legged fingers into the vast spaces of his sagging sleeves he looked straight at Ambrose. The old mans eyes were terrifying and beautiful, they shined silver in the gloom and skewered Ambrose where he lay, he couldn't move, it felt like he were being taken apart piece by piece with a mere look. Who was this old man?

"You can get up now, there's no point in feigning sleep when we both know you are wide awake my friend." The old man said, a wry smile spreading across his thin lips, cracking his skin deeper. Ambrose opened his eyes fully now, the man was right, he thought, there was no point in pretending, better to put it out in the open, that may give him a better chance to run. Slowly he rose until he was sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet firmly planted on the ground, ready to bolt for that curtain.

"There no need to contemplate an escape Ambrose, you are not a prisoner here, but I do advise you to stay, your injuries have yet to fully heal and I fear worse to come if you push yourself too soon and too fast." The old man said in a kindly voice, his words sincere. It felt like Ambrose has been thrown into a pool of ice water, the chills sent down his spine were enough to set his teeth chattering.

"How do you know my name?" he asked levelly but his breath was beginning to quicken, his instincts were screaming at him to run but his curiosity kept him seated. The old man gave him another small smile and made his way over to one of the cave holes, reaching in he pulled out a bottle and two long stemmed stone goblets. Coming over to the bed he held one of the them out to Ambrose who took it warily with a nod of thanks. The old man wrapped his thin fingers around the cork and pulled it from the bottles lip with a loud pop.

"I always feel that a good story deserves a good drink and a bad one deserves an even better drink." The man laughed at his own joke and Ambrose offered his own smile at the wit of the elder. The stranger poured the wine from the bottle, it shimmered a rich red color in the mouth of the goblet but Ambrose waited until the man took a drink from his own glass before he followed suit. The old man watched him with careful eyes, studying him thoughtfully.

"You are a very cautious man Ambrose, suspicious by nature, that's good. I can see that's what has kept you alive all these years. It helped you thrive didn't it?" The acuteness of the old man's observations were unnerving for Ambrose and he set his cup down quickly, some of the bitter wine spilling onto the floor.

"Who are you, how do you know all of this and why did you bring me to this place?" Ambrose demanded angrily, he jumped to his feet suddenly and his vision darkened instantly, swaying he felt himself fall towards the ground. Ambrose felt the old mans hands on his chest, pushing him back onto his feet with a strength that he didn't expect to come such an ancient looking man.

"Careful there, you don't want to make yourself feel any worse. Here, please lay down." The old man insisted gesturing to the bed. Ambrose fell heavily back on to the mattress but kept his eyes trained untrustingly on the old man until he sighed.

"Well it's a long story…" the old man answered vaguely but Ambrose was not deterred.

"Well considering I have no where else to be it seems." Ambrose replied with a raised eyebrow and waited. With a consenting nod the old man began.

"Well as you have already heard Ches say, I'm am known as the Great One, but you may call me by my name, Valdus. I know you're name because I know your thoughts, or at least some of them. Before I say anymore, I have a few questions of my own, do you remember anything about how you got here?" Ambrose was struck dumbfounded as he tried to conjure up the last image he could recall before he had wound up here. Scratching his head gently his fingers grazing the thick bandages reminding Ambrose of another kindness this stranger, no, Valdus had shown him without even knowing who Ambrose was; it made Ambrose feel guilty for is instant mistrust of the old man, if he had been shown the same courtesy Ambrose was sure he would be dead by now. Or maybe he had known…considering he could read minds and all. Just thinking about that made Ambrose's head throb painfully he steered himself away from those thoughts, he wasn't feeling well as it was, no need to make it worse. As he focused he could recall flashes of memory, sitting on a rooftop at night, breaking through a door, jewelry, a knife and his reflection as he touched the mirror.

"The mirror." Ambrose whispered opening his eyes in shock. "It was that mirror that I had touched, the old one in Jones and Burkes, with those weird words on it. That's the last thing that I remember." Ambrose said, looking at Valdus he saw the old man's eyes widen in shock.

"A traveling mirror hm?" he said and tugged at his beard as he thought for a moment. Getting up with more agility that a teenager, the old man went to his wall of scrolls again and began shifting through them. The sound of rustling paper filled the room only interrupted with the occasional "hm" from Valdus as he inspected one scroll after another.

"Ah," Valdus smiled and turned back to Ambrose, a thick ancient looking scroll that was weathered at the ends, looking as if it had been through a few natural disasters before it had been retired to the shelf of scrolls in Valdus's cave room. Carrying it over to the bed Valdus unrolled the scroll across Ambrose's lap showing him a detailed charcoal drawing of the same mirror that Ambrose had discovered in Jones and Burkes back room, the same mirror that had brought Ambrose here. "I've haven't seen one in years, not since I was just a young sorcerer in the service of the Kings great grandfather, maybe longer than what I care to admit" Valdus said with a small self preserving chuckle. Ambrose was stunned as he tried to comprehend what Valdus had just told him, he had been alive to work for the King three generations ago, but more importantly Valdus hasn't seen another mirror like the one that had brought him here in three generations. _How am I supposed to get home?_

"But that is nothing to despair over my new friend, I am sure that there are still some traveling mirrors existing in our world." Valdus covered quickly, trying to alleviate Ambrose sudden onslaught of despair, but Ambrose remained stunned in disbelief. He would _never_ get back to London, funnily enough London had been the one place that Ambrose wished to escape more so than anywhere else and now that it seemed like he would never be going back, all he wanted was to return. _"Be careful what you wish for." _Smith's warning haunted Ambrose's memory, hanging like clouds overhead in his mind. He had been right, Smith had been so right, all along. Why hadn't Ambrose listened to him when he had had the chance? Now he would never see his old friend, or his home ever again! Distraught and overcome with emotion Ambrose buried his face in his hands, feeling the tears threatening to spill over, beyond his control. Breathe he told himself, repeating the word over and over, until he felt the overflow of emotion subside and he was once again back in control of his own frame of mind. Valdus waited patiently and when Ambrose finally looked up he saw only sad understanding in the old mans transfixing eyes.

"Valdus, where am I." Ambrose asked trying to sound normal, but his voice was rough. He coughed quickly to cover it and looked at Valdus expectantly. Valdus smiled and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. There was a sense of kindness, of warmth that the old man exuded, something that Ambrose could not remember ever experiencing. It was as if he were standing next to the sun, the warmth of Valdus' personality was palpable.

"Come, I can show you better than I could ever explain. Let me show you my home, let me show you Wanderland."


End file.
